


you don't believe in one divine

by orphxus (impxria)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Spoilers, also me; constantly: write about his heartbeat u have to, blows kiss at byleth, me: i don't know what to write for this mans, some very short, this is basically just a bunch of abstract snippets with him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impxria/pseuds/orphxus
Summary: but can you tell me you believe in mine?( misc. oneshots of byleth / reader )





	1. war was made for you

( _in the essence of war, even you cannot ignore the bloodshed._ )

** . . .**

the thought comes when you see him on the battlefield, his expression composed-- no, rather, vacant. just as it always has been.

what does he think of, you wonder, when the crimson stains his skin?

_where do you go_, you wonder, _when you kill?_

( -- _will you allow me to follow_ ? )


	2. in the absence of a heartbeat

you feel it one day, his heartbeat. 

a smile on his face and the heaving of his chest -- ( it scared him, he says, _but i came running to you the moment i felt it_ ).

fingers intertwine and press against warm skin. he likes the feeling, he decides, and so do you.

“i’m alive.” the words come out breathlessly and you wonder if it’s from the running or the bewilderment that shines in brilliant green eyes.

you laugh, and he feels his pulse quicken for the first time when you smile against his lips.

“you have always been alive, love.”


	3. pieces of you

_( there is a goddess inside of me. )_

** . . .**   


there’s a crushing heaviness that you feel so deeply in your chest when the words come crashing in. you almost laugh; you had never believed in gods and goddesses. an uneasiness overwhelms your mind and the right words fail to come out-- because how do you respond to the idea that divinity lies inside your loved one?

( -- divinity, yes, you had always known. but perhaps not this type. )

“tell me about her.” you whisper.

so he does.

he falls asleep at your side that night, and in your dreams, you see her in the haze of it all. she sits idly on the throne, almost bored-- tired, in a sense. eternal. but there is a scrutinizing gaze that threatens to make you feel inferior.

she is protective of him-- byleth.

you almost smile. 

_i will take care of him_, you think. her features soften.

you wake the next morning with a lightness in your heart and the feeling of byleth’s lips against your skin.


	4. find your peace in the riot

( oh, it’s better here than dead. )

** . . .**

there’s blood on his hands.

“it’s not mine.” he tells you.

( _no, of course it’s not_, you think. _it never is_. )

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _you’ve heard the reassurance many times before in previous battles. this time, it’s different. regret lies in his words, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, sorrow seeks hold of his every being. _ _

_ _“it’s—“_ _

_ _the names and memories come flooding back all too quickly. fond recollections of the monastery, and then — _ _

_ _crimson. trembling hands forcing himself to bring down the sword. _ _

_ _( he wonders if this is what it feels like to drown in despair. )_ _

_ _“byleth,” his name comes out like a whisper, “i’m sorry.”_ _

_ _he does not hear you._ _

_ _( he realizes that there is blood splattered across your face. he wonders whose it is. )_ _

** . . .**

that night, he finds comfort in your arms. a heavy silence weighs in— an unsettling one, you find, and you feel so desperate to speak, but you swallow every single word that threatens to come out.

there is nothing to say.

there's an aching numbness that washes over you— from the fighting, from the stress of facing old friends. you’ve tried to understand war, tried to understand that death will follow you into the darkness, tried to understand it all. but you _can’t_. you can’t understand killing former allies.

( at the end of the line, you suppose there is nothing _to_ understand. war has always been cruel. you have always known this. )

the sound of your heartbeat slowly lulls him to sleep, and before it captures him, he holds you closer, desperate to feel your warmth--to feel that you’re truly there with him.

that night, he almost prays to the gods for forgiveness.

( he is sorry for all the wrong reasons; _it was never your fault_. )


	5. i can feel the innocence in you

he is not cruel by nature, you think.

his chest heaves before you, hands trembling; he is bloodied and a little more broken than before.

\-- edelgard is dead.

( and somewhere, a crimson flower bleeds. )


	6. the altar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fellas . this is only 2 sentences but i love it w/ all my heart so i will Share it

your fingers ghost over his chest-- they linger, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll ever feel that delicate heart that fails to beat so wildly behind broken ribs.

in the midst of the darkness with wandering hands and butterfly kisses, his name leaves your lips in a holy whisper.


	7. show me a hero

( and i’ll write you a tragedy. )

** . . .**

months after the death of his father, he finds a home at the docks. the water calms him, he realizes, watching the ebb and flow of the waves. there are too many questions left unanswered, too many thoughts that run through his head. he watches and watches the water, and part of him wishes that it swallow him whole.

“do you believe in heroes?”

your question breaks the silence, and suddenly, he is reminded of the warmth in your presence.

“i don’t know.” he begins, fond memories of his father’s exaggerated stories coming to mind. “i believe in their courage,” he speaks, “but i don’t believe in their endings.”

“you don’t believe in happy endings?”

he pauses, deep in thought as his eyes dare to meet his reflection.

“the world never gave them happy endings.”

the words come out so quietly, voice barely above a whisper. tales of heroes had always been glorified; in the end, hidden in the gold and riches draped across their shoulders, loneliness and terror resided. in quiet resignation, heroes faded to black, grasping at what little life they had left through stories told.

you smile softly, and he sees the sadness that dwells within it.

“i hope you do not become a hero, byleth.”

his eyes widen at the soft-spoken words; he finds that he has little to say, so instead, his lips press against yours. and despite the comfort of it all, the guilt from your selfishness brings tears to your eyes.

( & of all the prayers in the world,  
the gods and goddesses will not grant this one. )


	8. a world left behind

five years pass and the absence of the fell star has left a mourning soul behind.

( five years have passed,  
and byleth is still gone. )

there is a sadness that hollows your soul so quietly and deeply; almost absently, in a sense. drowned in the war that surrounds you, but resurfacing and clawing so terribly at your heart when the night comes and you are alone with your thoughts.

it is empty, the monastery. a place once considered holy. _safe_. 

( now, it is destroyed.  
in ruins, memories of better times lie. ) 

claude smiles at you, and in the radiance of it all, you see a lingering loneliness.

“he’ll be back.”

you inhale deeply, and there is a burning sensation in your lungs that crushes your chest all too much when you return the smile.

( how cruel grief is, to keep you alive and breathing with suffering. )


	9. in the name of nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i took a 30 second draft and ran with it folks

“i wonder what that goddess of yours would think,” you speak in a low tone as you kneel before holy figures, “if she knew the church was merciless towards those who dared defy them.”

byleth’s gaze wavers as he stares straight ahead, and you are unable to tell if his expression is one of apathy or contemplation. shoulder to shoulder, you both absentmindedly listen to the choir before he responds.

“she is sleeping.” 

“yes, of course.” you bow your head in feign respect and worship, hiding the bitter smile that finds its way to your lips. “the gods and goddesses are always sleeping, aren’t they?”


	10. surviving is the only war we can afford

he is not strong enough for this. 

a wandering mercenary who once lived in oblivion turned professor, and then --

panic creeps up on him, and it is almost a haze-- the way it wraps itself so cautiously around his throat-- quiet to not raise alarm, but announcing its presence just enough to keep him on edge. but it tightens and tightens and tightens, and suddenly, he cannot breathe. _he is not fit for this_, and gods, how he wishes to run away. to mentor these students, to teach them the ways of battle-- to teach them how to fend-- _no_, he thinks, _not to fend for themselves. to kill. _

it is too much.

and here they are now, years later, fighting a war he does not know can be won.

there is horror in his eyes, you realize, and you wonder if it has always been there. from your beginnings, you noticed how stoic he was-- how little emotion he expressed or felt. but he feels all too much now, and neither of you are sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

the moonlight shines gently on his features tonight, and despite the warmth you provide, he trembles. the panic he feels so deeply in his chest reflects the visage you fail to hold at bay, and it breaks him more than it should. his eyes burn and his vision blurs, and for the second time in his life, he cries. he despises the feeling-- it is too unfamiliar, too strange, and it serves as a reminder of his weakness.

“you are a walking tragedy,” you tell him, your voice a gentle whisper that breaks the silence in the late night. your forehead rests against his, fingers brushing away the tears that fall down his cheek. “and i am sorry for the life you have been given.”

( you weren’t meant to be atlas, dearest.  
even the strongest of beings cannot handle the weight of the world. )


End file.
